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It is quite easy to understand why a road has not been punched through to Colombia. The harsh jungle forms a natural barrier against smuggling in all forms.
For those of us from a privileged life, it is hard to imagine conditions so miserable as to risk crossing this dangerous strip of land. Many others have attempted this perilous journey.
While my Cuban friends continued their precarious journey north, a taxi whisked me away to the four-star Continental Hotel in central Panama City. The taxi driver told me about the huge volume of Cubans transiting through his country. He seemed sympathetic to the Cubans.
He explained that many women finance the long trek to the US by selling sex. However after hearing of my travels in Colombia his sternest warning was to stay away from Colombian and Venezuelan women. After checking in, I showered, wrote a little, spoke to my son and then went out for food.
I had not eaten since the day and managed to consume an entire pizza — big enough for a family! The idea of a cold beer in a local pub appealed greatly.
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However I was scared to sit down anywhere as all the establishments I walked past were filled with absolutely stunning women, obviously for rent. Closer to the hotel I found one empty terrace bar, so I entered cautiously and found a nice seat from which to watch the world go by. The friendly waitress was Venezuelan and was thrilled I spoke Spanish.
I said, as kindly as I could, those women would never receive a even a dollar from me. To that she asked with seeming genuine sincerity whether I would in fact be looking for a wife.
I told her I was already happily married, tipped generously and retreated to my room. As a note to the taxi driver: the Venezuelan lady was not working formally and certainly was leaving the failing system in Venezuela, but she was NOT a prostitute.
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I continued to ask myself — perhaps naively — how prostituting oneself on the streets of Panama could be better than a typical life in Colombia, Venezuela or Cuba. In the same vein I could not stop thinking about the friendly fellow from Bogota who will now be living in a stinky, crowded jail in Panama.
I suppose from those brief experiences I have to understand how Colombians have earned their reputation. Yet in their country I meet so many friendly, educated and professional people. I simple cannot believe that smuggling or prostitution stand above other activities in esteem — or success.